“He is at Kensington noo?” asked the Countess.
“Yes—he and Carstairs rule Scotland between them—the King gives no ear to any other.”
“And he, the Master—is ane with Jock!” she said eagerly. “And there are only twa weeks more—cousin—I think the thing is done.”
Some animation came into Argyll’s languid eyes.
“Almost, I think so,” he said. “Breadalbane goes to London soon?”
“He comes up frae Kilchurn to-morrow,” she answered, “and will be ready to accompany ye to Court.” Their eyes met.
“He will see the King?” asked Argyll.
“And the Master of Stair,” she answered. “And ’twill be done. We shall come back to the Hielands in the new year. The plans are laid.”
A little half-foolish smile crept round Argyll’s weak mouth. “’Twill gratify me vastly to see those Hielanders swept out,” he said.
“’Twill be a blow to the hopes of King James ye ken,” remarked the Countess.